


Laundry Day

by Beckybaby7



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Lingerie, Panty Kink, Shameless Smut, Smut, Underwear, not much of reader but still about her? idk, snoopy peter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-26
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-17 21:08:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29723274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beckybaby7/pseuds/Beckybaby7
Summary: Pink, lacy, and in his pile… how could he not be curious?
Relationships: Peter Parker & Reader, Peter Parker/Reader, Peter Parker/Y/N
Comments: 3
Kudos: 54





	Laundry Day

**Author's Note:**

> Why… do I do the things I do? I remember seeing either a dark Chris Evans or Steve Rogers blurb with a similar idea, but Tumblr crashed before I saw the user :((( I’ll tag it if I ever see it again (or if someone finds it for me), but until then enjoy. Cheers to my first smutty fic ever lol, maybe there’ll be a part two…

Alright, so maybe getting an apartment with his best friend and secret crush was a bad idea, but at the time he didn’t think much of it. Before college, you were always at one another’s places, and the two of you were always sleeping over. He really didn’t think sharing a place would be all that different.

But having a place that you considered actually yours, and not your family’s, has made you much more comfortable and relaxed.

More specifically, you’ve been much more comfortable wearing _less_.

Obviously, Peter didn’t mind. It was your place just as much as his, and you have been more than accommodating toward his hectic Spider-Man schedule. And if you were okay with wearing some boy shorts or just a bra on top, he was okay with admitting he rather enjoyed the view.

Not that he was always looking. He only lets himself check you out less than half of the time.

… okay maybe a little more than half. The point is, it’s not _all_ the time.

The day started off normal, with the sun peeking out between the clouds. Peter was out in the living room doing homework, more or less confident in his answers. Who knew organic chemistry was such a bitch?

“I’m going out to study with MJ,” you announce, entering from the hallway. “I should be back later tonight. If you want, I could grab some Thai on my way back.”

Peter shrugs. “I could do Thai. Might make this work a little more bearable, to be honest,” he mumbles.

“Yeah, I need some comfort food too. Maybe if I flirt with them, they’ll give us some extra noodles.” You slip your jacket on. “Oh, by the way, could you do me a favor?”

_The question where it all went wrong_. It was too dangerous; he should have said no. There were too many risks.

“Could you pick up my clothes from the dryer? I didn’t get a chance to yet and I don’t wanna keep MJ waiting.”

He nods. “Sure, mine should be done soon anyway.”

“Thanks a ton, dude. You’re the best. I’ll see you later.”

Peter sends you a wave as he continues to stare into his laptop’s blue-lighted abyss. 

He does this for another two hours before he realizes that he’s done absolutely nothing. Jeez, the sun was already gone. What was he even doing again? How long has he been spacing off?

He shuts his laptop with a groan, closing his eyes as he slumps back on the couch. The last thing he wanted to do was look at carbon molecules, it made his brain ache. Maybe he should just do something else instead, something productive that’ll keep his head (somewhat) straight.

_Might as well do the laundry, because what can go wrong with that?_

Peter heads to the basement and unloads his clothes into the laundry basket. It only fills up about two-thirds of the way, so he decides to just throw your stuff on top of his to save a trip.

_Smart idea, right?_

He takes the basket to his room, still not motivated enough to do his homework. At this point, he should just keep going and put his clothes away. And with yours at the top, along with the fact that you’re bringing home takeout, he’ll just fold your clothes too. It’s the nice thing to do.

The spiderling sits down on his bed and begins folding two of your sweaters. He makes sure to be extra neat with them, folding it exactly like May showed him all those years ago. She’d probably cry if she saw him right now: he hated doing laundry as a kid.

He sets them into a nice stack and turns back toward the rest of the clothes, grabbing the shirt that was now on top. 

And that’s when Peter sees it.

A thong. A baby pink, lace thong, right on top of the basket.

Peter's eyes widen. For a small amount of fabric, it sure got his attention. A wave of guilt floods his head. Hopefully, you remembered that you had such skimpy underwear in the wash before you asked him to grab your laundry.

He continues to stare, which makes Peter feel even more guilty. Even if you were okay with him grabbing your clothes, you probably didn’t mean it was okay for him to _gawk_ at it.

He thinks for a moment; should he just… leave it there? It seems like the right thing to do, but his all of his clothes are beneath your underwear, so he’ll have to touch it eventually. And who knows if that’s the only one.

_Fuck_ , is most of your underwear like this?

The thought makes him spiral. Guilt no longer clouded his mind, too busy thinking of what you looked like in your underwear. Peter pictures you wearing the lace under all those pretty sundresses you loved to wear in the summer, and beneath those short skirts that you wore in the fall.

He wonders if it was a matching set as he thinks of how you would look with a dainty, pink push-up bra. As if your chest needed any help to look as amazing as it did. He could see the outline of them under those old t-shirts you wear to bed, and that was enough for the boy to get his radioactive blood going.

_Oh shit._

Peter looks down to check, and what do you know, he’s rock hard under his sweats.

It only comes as a slight shock to him; even when you walked around in those tight boy shorts that gave him the exact shape of your ass, he would only get a semi at most. And after five or so minutes, he was able to focus away from your butt and be fine for the rest of the night.

But this isn’t going away anytime soon, he’s fucking throbbing.

The guilt tries to resurface as he decides what to do. He checks the time; he still had another hour or so before you came back. If he did do anything, he would be good and done well before you came back. It’s not like you’d find out.

Plus, it wouldn’t be the first time he’s thought of you.

The door was already closed, and it was now or never. He lays down on his bed and blinks a few extra times, each one a quick reality check.

_This was harmless. Private._

Peter bucks his hips up as he tugs his pants down to his mid-thigh. He keeps his boxers on, not quite ready to go all in. He’s got to ease in, and not in that way (well actually, _kind of_ in that way).

His eyes close as he sucks in a slow breath. He rests his left hand on his leg as his right trails down on his stomach and to the elastic band of his underwear. He opens his eyes and stares at the ceiling, still fiddling with the stretchy material.

After a moment or two, Peter’s hand finally sinks lower and cups his member, and _fuck, it already feels good_. He continues to palm himself through his underwear and lets out a sigh of relief. His thumb pokes out to touch his tip, and immediately his hips thrust forward to meet the subtle pressure.

He slows himself down as his mind came back to you and those goddamn panties. Were they for special occasions only? How often did you wear them?

_Have you ever touched yourself when you wore them?_

The idea causes a low groan from his chest, making him ditch his boxers. Pulling them down to meet his sweats, his cock springs straight to his stomach, red and needy. His pace speeds up as he continued his fantasy.

Peter pictures you on your bed, with nothing but _that_ on. You bite your lips before they part, now wet and shiny with your spit. Your hair was slightly messy, no doubt from the tiring trials of the day. He could see your eyes were wide and glassy, desperate for a release.

Your hand trails down to your mound, and just like Peter you play with the lace at the top. Maybe you twiddle with the pink bow at the top too; he’d like to think you did.

The other hand paths around your chest and stops between your breasts before heading south. You cup one of your boobs gently and brush your thumb against your hardening nipple, eliciting a breathless moan.

His hand tugs harder. Your moans probably sounded like a melody; he’d do anything to hear them right in his ears. Needy noises that begged for more. Something harder, faster, _rougher_.

Eventually, you wouldn’t be able to handle the teasing. You were always impatient, the idea of waiting killing you every time. It was amusing to watch, but if you were his, he would be _merciless_. He’d purposely deny your pleas just to teach you a lesson.

He imagines you kicking your underwear off in a hurry, ready to fuck yourself into pure bliss.

That’s when Peter stops himself, a naughty idea developing. He props himself up with his elbows and stares at the laundry basket, your underwear still on top, clear as day.

_No… no he couldn’t do that. That was too far._

But when your dick was as angry and hungry as Peter’s right now, your morality starts to crack a little. Enough to make a bad decision or two.

_People lose socks in the wash all the time… surely it could happen to a thong too._

He quickly sits up and snatches your underwear. If he went any slower, he would have surely stopped himself and regretted even thinking of such an idea. Yet right now, he so badly wanted to do this, even if it was extremely perverted.

It was a lot softer than Peter expected, the non-lace areas feeling almost silky to the touch. With his heightened scenes, the scent of your lavender detergent envelops his nose and calms his rapid heartbeat.

He tries to cover as much of his hand as he could, but with the shape and limited fabric, it only covers half of it. Still, it’s more than enough for him and his dirty thoughts as he starts to rub himself again, tending to his aching member.

The feeling is slightly strange at first. He could tell where his soft hand met the rougher lace and cotton. It doesn’t glide as easily as usual, but it’s nothing problematic. At least not for a pathetically horny Peter.

His head lulls back in pleasure, turning his fantasy back on. Your chest is lifting off your bed as your fingers rubbed against your clit feverishly. You were absolutely soaking at this point, your core clenching down hard. You desperately wanted to be filled up with something, or _someone_ , but you weren’t going to waste time with that. Fingers were enough to get you where you needed to be.

Your legs started to draw closer together, a sign that you were about to come. The circular movements on your clit become rougher and sloppier as your jaw goes slack. _Fuck, you were so close._

Peter was too. His breaths became shallow as his muscles became tighter. He can feel the lace furiously rubbing against him and it drives him fucking crazy. The idea of coming all over your nice panties was sending him over the edge.

For the grand finale, he hears you moaning his name as you finish, legs shaking at the wave of euphoria.

“ _Peter, Peter, Peter…_ ”

**“-Peter?!”**

He stops, eyes wide and hand still on his cock.

That last one was _not_ in his head.


End file.
